


Hair Paste

by tentainokonton



Series: Vignettes: Cullen Rutherford and Dorian Pavus [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentainokonton/pseuds/tentainokonton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's feelings for Dorian have led him to changing his daily routine. However, fate has a way of making things work out the way they're intended. It doesn't help, of course, having such curly hair and no real good help on how to control it...until a certain someone has a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair Paste

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the big interest in my last story, Scar! Dorian/Cullen has hit me hard, so I am happy to not only write it, but to also share it with all my fellow Cullorian shippers out there. :D
> 
> This is a continuation one-shot following shortly after Scar. It was inspired by both my husband and by a conversation overheard at the war table. My husband wanted something with them in a wash room/bathroom, and after hearing a conversation where Cullen stammers when Leliana and Josephine claim he did something different with his hair today...I put the two together, and here we are. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Cullen has taken to bathing at early in the morning.

He won't admit the reason why to anyone, though he knows why. He also knows the reason why he recommended a bathing schedule to Josephine--who naturally took charge and set it into motion--was because he didn't want to chance running into _him_.

It's a bit ridiculous, really, the efforts he's taken to reducing his time around Dorian the last few days. Cullen feels at times like a young teenager, so completely smitten and head over heels. Of all the people in the inquisition, naturally he had to crush on a mage. Not only that, but a mage from _Tevinter_.

Fate is cruel, he tells himself.

The air in the wash room is cold as Cullen steps out of the tub, his large feet curling at the toes due to the chilly stone floor. He takes hold of the large, plush towel and begins to dry himself off, starting at the bottom and working his way up. By the time he gets to his head he's reminded of the curly blond mess that sits atop it. No matter how hard he works, he can never quite seem to get it under control.

Cullen shivers slightly as he wraps the moistened towel around his waist. His pale skin is flushed, his cheeks pink, and as he approaches the mirrored cabinet, he once again takes notice of his unruly hair. Today it seems far worse than usual--another cruel fate.

"Maker's breath," he mutters quietly.

Cullen stares at his face momentarily in the mirror before leaning in, craning his neck from left to right. His cheeks, chin and jaw are covered in a fine stubble, and he ponders shaving. He runs his callused fingertips over his upper lip, along the outline of his jaw, then smiles faintly. It looks good, he decides. One more day can't hurt.

Just as Cullen leans over to the basket containing his clothes, he hears the sound of the door creaking ajar. His heart jumps in his chest, landing square in his throat.  His eyes remain locked on the entry--this section of the lavatory is his for the next ten minutes at the very least!

Cullen tries to swallow the knot in his throat as he stares with mild horror at Dorian, the intruder, who's wearing so very little in a place that is so very cold.

"Oh, for goodness sake!"

"Commander!"

Dorian sounds surprised. The look on his face, however, tells a different story.

Cullen runs a hand over the front of his face before snatching up his undershirt and long johns from the basket. He clutches them to his chest, suddenly very aware of just how little he's wearing--and who's staring at him.

"My apologies, Commander, I must have gotten the time wrong when I left my room. Seems it's earlier than I believed it to be!"

Dorian speaks easily, with amusement. He is wearing what appears to be a cotton robe, though the dark color--black, brown?--hides the texture, so Cullen isn't sure. It also accents just how dark Dorian's complexion is, and it so nicely hugs his shape in all the right--

 _Stop thinking about that_ , Cullen thinks sharply. He clears his throat. "Yes. Well. The wash room is mine for at least the next ten minutes, Dorian."

Dorian makes no movement to leave. Instead he moves forward, and with each step Cullen feels his muscles tighten and his skin tingle. By the time the mage is within arm's reach Cullen can't help but feel that the flush across his chest and cheeks has set him aflame. He's going to die here, he just knows it.

"Ah, but you've finished with the wash tub!" A wry smile appears upon his face. "Anyway, just what, pray tell, do you use the last few minutes for? You strike me as a _get-in-and-go_ type. No dilly-dallying here, am I right, Commander?"

"Cullen," Cullen corrects suddenly, without hesitation.

"Cullen, then." Dorian's smile reaches the corners of his eyes, becoming brighter. Cullen notices how natural, how _right_ his name sounds on the other man's lips.

Dorian raises his eyebrows and rubs his hands together. He looks away briefly. "So, shall I leave you? Suppose I should wait my turn, and all."

"N-No, no," Cullen says,  though he almost immediately regrets it. It would have been so easy to just say yes, to finish up his business and then leave, but that most certainly isn't going to happen. Cullen thinks himself a glutton for punishment. What other explanation is there for allowing Dorian to stay? "It's quite all right. I just--I needed to do something with my hair, here..." He licks his drying lips, fingers ghosting over his scar. They continue upward, where he pats and tugs on a few errant curls atop his head.

"You're so lucky, you know," Dorian begins with a wistful sigh. His expression shifts so quickly, but so subtly, Cullen almost misses it. "Some men would kill to have those luxurious curls of yours. And here you are, letting them go to waste! Do you even style them?"

" _Style_ them?"

"Yes, style them! You know, give them volume, weigh them down, accent them. Something." Dorian offers a wave of his hand before bringing it to the side of his face. He taps his cheekbone as he eyes Cullen's hair.

"I--I guess I haven't, really. I mean, in the past perhaps I've tried, but--"

Cullen slouches his shoulders, a wave of disappointment washing over him. He'd never learned much about the upkeep of his personal appearance while training in the Templar order. Aside from maintaining a regular bathing and shaving schedule, he'd always let his hair do its own thing. He'd followed in his father's footsteps, and then those of his fellow Templars, and kept it simple. Except for those rare occasions where he used a brush or comb to try and tame his hair.

Of course today had to be one of those days.

"Well, allow me to help you, _Cullen_ ," Dorian says cheerfully. His demeanor shifts, and in a quick move he's already retrieved the brush from the basket beneath the mirrored cabinet. He brings over a nearby chair and guides Cullen to sitting in it, all without missing a beat. Cullen clings to his undergarments for dear life, finding it difficult to think, let alone even say, that he needs to switch into them. On some level, he doesn't want to, wants to stay just as he is.

 _You're being ridiculous_...

Dorian places his hands on Cullen's shoulders where they lay for a few moments, each one feeling like a torturous eternity. Despite this, Cullen loves the sensation, loves the way his body quivers from the touch, but he manages to keep himself under control. He keeps a straight face and an even straighter back, his broad chest and shoulders square.

"Now, there's plenty you could do," Dorian offers with a thoughtful expression. He tilts his head to the side, and after a moment's pause, lifts the hand holding the brush, whisking it lightly, carefully over the matted nest that is Cullen's hair. Cullen watches, enthralled by the way Dorian manages to style his untamed curls with such precision and ease. In a mere minute or two he has it lying perfectly. Cullen swears it's never looked better.

"One final touch to help keep it this way. Let me get my paste."

" _Paste_?"

Dorian chuckles as he steps away. "Yes, paste. I'll share a dirty secret with you, Cullen. Ravishing and absolutely charming though I am, my hair needs a little taming every now and again. But shh." When he returns he opens a small black container. Cullen catches a brief peek inside at the paste, but what catches his attention is the scent.

"Smells heavenly," Cullen admits with a small grin.

"Yes, well, can't have my hair stinking to high heaven, even if it looks good," Dorian replies with a wink. He scoops up a small bit of the paste and spreads it over his fingers.

Nothing could have prepared Cullen for the sensation to follow. It starts out simply enough, with Dorian's fingers ghosting over parts of his hair atop his head. But soon those deft fingers slide over his ears, along his hairline, following it down to the back of his neck...Cullen shivers, closing his eyes as his body succumbs to the relaxing and enthralling feel of Dorian's touch. He doesn't understand the importance of applying the paste to those areas but he doesn't question it; he doesn't want the experience to end. The aromatic scent of Dawn Lotus and Prophet's Laurel fills his nose, transporting him years back to when his mother used to brush his hair after a warm bath.

Cullen feels a faint shift behind him; the sensation of warm breath on the nape of his neck creates goose bumps along his arms. Dorian's hands grip his shoulders lightly, but firmly. His lips ghost over Cullen's ear, sensation igniting the commander's nerves from head to toe. Cullen exhales softly, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was keeping in.

"If I'd have known you would enjoy this so much, Cullen, I would have brought something other than _hair paste_..."

Clarity washes over Cullen like a splash of cold water. He opens his eyes, starting in his seat. Reflecting back at him in the mirror is his flushed face with Dorian's own right beside him. His breath hitches in his throat as they stare at each other wordlessly. His heart races in his chest, _thud-thud-thud_ , and his palms begin to sweat. Arousal stirs in his stomach, pumping blood into his loins. He grows hard, yet still he makes no move. Not yet. Something holds him back.

"Up you go, then," Dorian says, finally breaking the silence. He smirks, dark eyes alight with that knowing look _._

There's no denying now that the energy between them is palpable, hungry. It gnaws at Cullen's gut, urging him to act.

Dorian's hands glide slowly over Cullen's shoulders, moving away from his neck, until they slip off completely. He folds one arm over his chest while the other brings a hand to the side of his face. He curls the corner of his mustache and looks at Cullen through the mirror.

"Don't you look _dashing_."

In one swift movement Cullen is on his feet, turned toward Dorian. His undergarments fall to the floor as he relinquishes them from his grip, his hands reaching out to grip hold of Dorian's forearms. He pulls the mage close to him, swallowing, drinking in every bit of the man's presence, of his form. He smells like Blood Lotus, musky and warm, and his skin feels as soft as silk.

"Commander!" Dorian's voice is hushed, but eager.

"Cullen," Cullen whispers, before he captures Dorian's lips in a passionate kiss. He reaches down, one hand on Dorian's ass, and brings him flush against him, arousal lighting his very being on fire.

Cullen is falling.

He is falling _hard._


End file.
